Cookies and Crazies
by kiaronna
Summary: Every Spring, the males of Mineral Town have to scramble to make cookies for their loved ones. And one unfortunate redhead has to help each and every one... Add in a loopy father, a matchmaker farmer, and a shy boy, and you've got fun. I don't own HM.


_A.N.- Hee, a funkyful little one shot. My first for HM! And HM ROCKS! This is humor, so those of you reading my other series, be warned- it's not angst, suspense, or really anything else of that nature... And, on another note... I GET TO WRITE CLIFFXANN!! WOOT! Yep, it's a CliffxAnn. Cuz it 'tis one of meh favorite pairings in Harvest Moon. It's gently implied and (almost) stated. They do NOT- I repeat NOT!- kiss. ...Yet. And yes, I know I sound sexist in the first part of the story. I know that guys can cook (my father makes some AWESOME stuff, and I know for a fact that my little brother is a better cook than me), but for the purpose of this story, I'm pretending that they can't. So THERE. Anyways, on to the story!_

Cookies and Crazies

You've heard of the infamous ability of males to ruin every dish they cook.

Now, that's not entirely true. I know for a fact that Kai cooks excellently. However, it's a sad truth that the other males of Mineral Town are completely lost when it comes to a frying pan and adding spices.

The problem is that every single one of them has a girlfriend. Girls here are great and all, but when it comes to Springtime, even Mary's common sense seems to fly out the window. Hormones and pink hearts are flying everywhere. You can't walk into a room without stumbling upon someone kissing. The season of life and love.

The season where girls receive cookies from their boyfriends. It's a cute, quaint little thing that I will absolutely NOT participate in, so help me. But anyway, ever since the year where Manna took a bite of Duke's cooking and went COMPLETELY SILENT for almost a minute, there's been a secret among the men. If you want good cookies, you follow this easy recipe:

1. You'll need one kitchen, one Inn, and two cups of unfortunate cooks.

2. Add a pinch of groveling and begging.

3. Stir well. And then stand by the bowl and wait for your cookies to magically appear while pretending to be helpful.

Waa laa, delicious cookies!

And that's how, every Spring 13th, I found myself covered in flour, bruises, and several ruined pieces of cookie dough.

I was NOT looking forward to it this year.

"I'm not getting involved," I told my dad firmly. "I'm staying out of it this year. If you need me, I'll be cleaning upstairs."

"But ANN, I can't help! I need to man the register!"

"Well, I'M not doing it!"

"This could be an opportunity to bond with a guyyyy," he sang in glee.

"Sure, Dad. That's why they're there. To flirt with me while they make signs of eternal love for their girlfriends. That makes sense."

He frowned, and then sighed. "There will be a lot of disappointed guys if you don't help."

"And there will be a lot of people at the Clinic tomorrow. But I don't care."

"C'mon, Annie... You know you like cooking..."

"No. Absolutely NOT."

And so began my not-so-long-lasting defiance against helping the men cook. The next morning, I was innocently sweeping with my broom when I smelled...

Smoke.

It was eight in the morning, and the Inn was on fire. A beautiful start to an absolutely BEAUTIFUL day.

Once THAT was taken care of, I watched Gray pound the cookie dough for about ten seconds before my chefly instincts began to scream.

"No, no, no..."

He looked up moodily, his sad little pile of dough waving a white flag. It was shaped, mysteriously, like a scythe or something...

Anyway, I couldn't just stand there and watch him rip cooking's honor to shreds.

Yeah, I helped. Gray was obviously under a lot of stress, having his shy and sensitive side be poked with a stick by this cruel holiday. I was surprised he got up the guts to make cookies at all. That, and the fact that at four the same morning I had been awoken by a screamed "NOOO, THAT'S WRONG YOU FOO' GRANDSON!! YOU ARE A SHAME TO THIS FAMILY, AND TO OUR ANCESTORS WHO WERE ALL BLACKSMITHS AND YOUR PARENTS BACK HOME IN THE CITY!!" Tiny stuff like that that showed me that the scowl on his face had a reason to be there. Anyhow, things obviously weren't working out with him. And it showed.

Badly.

He beat the eggs like they had personally wronged him, the result me looking like I had a facial mask of white goo on. He pounded the dough so hard I wouldn't be surprised if our tiles were cracked under it. He couldn't even roll the dough in his hands into balls without making them flat as a pancake. And by the time he had cranked the oven to the HIGHEST degree possible for the THIRD time and ruined yet another batch, I just completely took over. Sad is the life of a helpful, kind girl who would prefer that Mary not choke to death. And in the end, he just stood there, waving his arms about, babbling, with some grunted apologies, while I refused to let him touch ANYTHING.

See, THIS is why I tried to get out of it this year.

But I still couldn't help but smile when he took the plate of cookies in his hands and cradled them like some precious artifact.

"They're for Mary, right?"

He had nodded, then given me that shy grin of his.

"Good luck."

Despite all the ranting I did about the stupidity of the romantic holiday, I did think it was awfully cute when a boy like Gray went up to his girl, stuttering and mumbling, to present her with a plate. And I loved it when she would, equally flustered, thank him, eat a few, look like she wanted to dive back into her book and hide for cover, then shyly give him a kiss on the cheek. To which he would turn red and die.

If any boy tried to do the same for ME, of course, then they would find themselves with enough knocked-out teeth to buy a Mercedes with the tooth fairy cash. THAT, I was sure of.

"And NO," I told myself (and my eager father). "I will NOT help anyone else bake cookies!"

Of course, that's what I would be saying two hours later, with my hair full of cookie dough that SOMEHOW tasted like bread, due to a certain doctor skimping on the sugar because he thought it was UNHEALTHY.

"It's a COOKIE, dangblastit all!" I had yelled into his stethescope, to which he winced and removed the ear connector thingies. "It's gonna have SUGAR!"

Stilllll, when a certain nurse received cookies that were stuffed full of sugar and chocolate chips (courtesy of ME, let me tell you, not Mr. Stingy), and immediately tackled said Mr. Stingy in a giant bear hug, I had to laugh and grin (after bleeehhhing a bit in their direction). Although I don't think it was funny when the cute nurse girl whacked him over the head with her huge stack of paperwork several times because he refused to kiss her "until after she brushed her teeth". Idiot doctors.

"Last time I'll help," said gullible and annoyingly helpful me.

Yes, as you've probably guessed by now, it was NOT the last time. Rick came, too, waving his arms about and squawking about cookies for Karen.

And as usual, in the end, the cookies were made by yours truly only. A note to the boys of Mineral Town: 1. It's great to have your help, so thank you. 2. However, please DO NOT. And a note to Rick: 1. DO NOT question me when I throw out a batch of cookies you helped make. I have good reason. Like finding feathers and "chocolate chips" in sugar cookies. 2. Another note to go with my last sentence. PLEASE, PLEASE do not attempt to make cookies after you've finished cleaning the chicken pen.

And then I sneaked after Rick to watch him present his cookies. Okay, I admit it. I'm a sucker when it comes to romance for OTHER PEOPLE. Hear that, Dad? OTHER PEOPLE. I don't like it when they eat each other's faces off, but otherwise, romance is darn CUTE. Especially when you've got a gawky blonde chicken farmer blowing up because he's offering up his childhood friend and crush a plate of cookies minus the feathers. I think those sort of things are wonderful. Innocent love is funny and entertaining!

Yeah, yeah, I know. I sound like I ate one of Rick's "chocolate chip" cookies. But I promise, I'm sane. I just think that the world needs a teaspoon of sugar to add to the goodness of life. Because life is good. Sometimes.

Unfortunately, the key ingredient of the recipe known as MY LIFE was in for a slicing and dicing session. Or maybe a run in the blender.

But anyway, whatever tool was used on my heart did a wonderful job.

It felt like it was some cruel sort of joke then. Except for the fact that it wasn't a joke.

Cliff, coming up to me, asking me to help him make cookies.

For Claire.

"Oh," I said.

Oh.

My face must have looked like I wanted to kill something, because Cliff turned this strange blue color and he began to offer apologies.

"I'm sorry for asking!!" Cliff squeaked. "I just... Thought... Gray and everyone else..."

Stupid, wonderful, amazingly strange (and cute) Cliff.

I found my voice. "No, it's okay..."

And it really hurt. I didn't know why then, because... Well...

I didn't know what Cliff meant to me.

I got an inkling. When he blushed and told me that Claire liked the regular chocolate chip cookies.

How ever since she had moved there, they had been friends, as they prayed together at the church and had picnics in the forest. And all while he talked, my heart was unmercifully thrown out onto the cutting board, where it proceeded to be chopped to pieces by the cold knife of reality.

And it HURT. Goddess, it hurt. When he told me, chuckling softly, as he plopped dough ball after dough ball onto the cookie sheet, that he was very glad I was helping him, because he could never do it by himself. And I listened. I listened to him go on about Claire, about her beautiful blonde hair and how she would smile at him, how she would laugh with him, how she had given him the most delicious chocolate cake last winter.

I listened, hardly listening at all, while I mindlessly mixed and rolled and placed the cookie tray in the oven. I listened to his repeated praise of her and everything she did. The cookies rose, crunchy and delicious. And my heart sunk. The cookies cooked to a golden brown, as my hopes burned to a crisp. Hopes I didn't even know I HAD. We sat at the table in my room together, him for once doing all the talking, albeit quietly and tentatively, waiting for the cookies to be done.

"...So, I'm offering them. Do you think she'll like them?"

Claire would love them. Claire loved food and everything in general. Claire accepted anything into her warm embrace, love and kindness floating about her. She was that peaceful, sweet, amazingly hard worker sort of girl. A little bit... LOONY with happiness and unoccupied time, but still. It was easy to see why Cliff fell in love with her. She could fix that broken heart of his with joyful, overly excited words and yet patient mending. The sort that I could never accomplish.

"I'm happy for you," I murmured.

And he blinked at me, smiling a tiny smile, yet looking almost... confused? "Thanks, Ann. That means a lot. But... Do you think she'll really like them?"

"Yes."

The buzzer rang.

"They're done."

He stood, eager, and went off to get them.

I just sat there. Why was I so sad, anyway? I should have been happy. Cliff and Claire would be. They'd do a cute little reunion that I would adore. Secretly, of course.

But I didn't want to see it.

He stuck his head back in. "...Um, Ann? I can't figure out how to turn off the oven."

I stood, rolling my eyes. "I'll help. Geez. Men."

Ten minutes later, he was off, a plate in his hand, words in my mind.

"Thanks a lot, Ann. You're such a great person. I'm really sorry to have put that sort of pressure on you. You must be tired." I was. "Thanks again." A wave, a smile, an unconfident shuffle towards the farm.

I went and threw myself back on my bed.

The smell of cookies wafted in through my open door. Sugar cookies, chocolate chip cookies, cinnamon cookies... Really, anything, depending upon the girl, or the guy's ability to misinterpret the girl.

Usually, I loved that smell. For several years, it had been the only reason that I helped the men bake. My mother used to bake cookies... She smelled like them, that I knew. I'd never told my Dad, but I had this wonderful dream that I think was a memory. Just my mommy and I, sitting in the back room, a half-empty plate of cookies in front of us, giggling and smiling and cooing. I climbed in her lap and hugged her, and she hugged me back. She smelled of chocolate chip cookies, of grass and warmth and all my favorite foods. But that's all I remember about Mom.

I had the sudden, unexplainable urge to cry. To turn over and weep into my pillow. Because I had this lump in my throat, one that shouldn't have been there. I had no reason to cry... The day was over, and though I was covered in flour and dough and desperately in need of a shower, there was no reason to be SAD.

Except for the fact that Cliff was probably off right now, adding a pinch of sugar to his life with Claire. Probably kissing her.

I swallowed and felt my chest burn.

I must have laid there for hours. Though I didn't cry, there was still that dull ache inside of me... Though I squeezed my eyes tight and pretended like nothing had changed or was wrong, I knew it was. And I was not going to be able to sleep unless I did something about it.

I sat up, marched out of my room, and prepared for the weirdest conversation of my life.

Which didn't happen, because Cliff was sitting at a table in the Inn, his face tired and upset. He was miserably stirring a straw around in a mug of beer, though I had never seen Cliff drink alcohol before in my life. My father was nowhere in sight, probably to give Cliff privacy and some room. And I was about to do the same when he saw me.

He turned those chocolate eyes on me, and he looked quieter and dimmer than ever before.

I had thought it hurt before, when he was going on about Claire. But this... This was worse. Far worse.

I managed a weak smile. "...How did it go?"

He shrugged. "Not good, not bad."

"Did she like the cookies?"

"I don't know."

That wasn't a good sign.

"Well, why not?" My attempt at being sassy failed.

"She was drunk."

Oh.

I had seen Claire drunk before.

It wasn't good. The girl couldn't take alcohol. And when she drank it, well... She tended to turn into a blunt, cruel, unedited rough person.

"And...?" I managed.

"She told me I looked like crap," he said. "But nothing about the cookies. So I don't know."

"She was drunk, Cliff. You don't know what she was think-"

"She tells the truth when she's drunk, Ann. She also told me I was so poor I should go drown myself in a river and then get eaten by a crocodile."

"Well, that's not exactly true..." I responded weakly. "You've got a job."

Yeah. A job by a man who was often so drunk he couldn't find the Inn when he wanted to get more so. Even though he lived next door. He had probably forgotten to pay Cliff more than once. And Cliff was such a doormat...

"So?"

"So... um... Yeah," I said. Wow. I should be a lawyer, I'm so good. "You're trying. That's worth something." I swallowed. "To me, at least."

He turned his gaze back to his mug of beer, defeated. MY word didn't count. He just wanted the drunk blonde's.

"I know it really hurts, but... Can I... Can I help? At all?"

Silence.

I sat down in the chair beside him. "Cliff. She'll be sober in the morning. You can ask her about everything then."

"She tells the truth when she's drunk, Ann," he repeated. His hands tightened on his mug of beer. "And everything's ruined now. My closest friend here just deserted me. She's been lying to me these past seasons, and-"

And then I smacked him.

"IDIOT."

Those cow eyes looked up at me, utterly surprised.

"You're gonna let her go because you think she tells the truth when she's DRUNK? I think YOU'RE drunk."

"But I-"

"You know what? We're going over right away, in the morning. When she's darn SOBER. And if she tells you the same thing then, THEN you can go and cry off in your little corner."

And that's when I heard the big "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" coming from the outside of our Inn door.

Sounding suspiciously like one Innkeeper and one other person.

I stood, and Cliff turned his head towards the noise.

There was squeaking and an exchange of voices.

"Did they hear us?! No WAAYYY, not possible!! Not at all!!"

Cliff followed me as I went over to the door, then yanked it open.

My father and one very undrunk blonde tumbled into the room.

"Hi, Ann," he said weakly. "Claire and I were... Uh..."

"Eating the door!" Claire volunteered at the same time my father said, "checking for termites".

I managed to stop myself from growling, but Cliff...

"Claire, are you all right?" He practically whispered.

"Oh, yeah, sweetie. I'm totally fine, don't you worry!" She giggled. "...Eh? Oh, yeah. I mean, um... I'm-finnnneee," she said with a slur. "Howwwareee youuuuu?"

"You're not drunk!" I yelled, throwing my hands in the air. "You're completely sober!"

"No I'm not!" Claire squealed. "I'm utterly unsophisticated and drunk and all that!"

My father picked himself up and dusted himself off.

"Geez, Annie, why are you so knightly? I swear, you should have taken the opportunity to grab your man!"

"MY man?" I questioned sweetly. Of course, inside my mind, I was ripping his head off and throwing it to the Dobermans.

"Yeah! It's the perfect setup... Poor boy that girl likes is rejected by hot blonde... He is defenseless and needs comforting! The girl offers condolence... AND THEY GET MARRIED AND HAVE 8 ZILLION BAMILLION GRANDCHILDREN... Errr, children, I mean... Because it's not for the grandparent, of course... AND LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER!!" He ended, breathing hard. Then he took a glance at me. "...I mean, hypothetically. Not reaallyyy! I swear!"

"Did you HIRE Claire to do this?!"

"Nooo, I volunteered!" Claire cheered. "...It seemed fun! Haven't you seen? I've been playing matchmaker ever since I arrived!"

"Wait, so you... Weren't trying to get Cliff?"

"Of course not! Cliff's awesome and all, but his soulmate is you!"

There was a warm, glowing feeling inside my heart... Then again, that might have just been me heating up as my chest constricted and I restrained myself from committing murder.

"I... Don't... Like... Boys..."

"A-a-a-and Ann doesn't have to be my soulmate unless she wants to be!!" Cliff shrieked, finally joining the conversation.

"What's made you say all this anyway, Claire!?" I interrupted. "He just offered up cookies to you! He doesn't like me... He likes YOU!"

Claire grinned slyly. "...As a friend."

"Well, obviously not!" I waved my hands around. "He just tried to give you cookies at a romantic festival!"

Cliff turned this funny white color.

"...It's a romantic festival?" He asked in horror.

And suddenly, my heart, which had been chopped up and destroyed time and time again, gave a little gasp for life and air.

"YOU DIDN'T KNOW?!" For some strange reason, I was yelling at him. A lot. And grabbing him by his coat collar and slamming him repeatedly against hard things.

"No! Claire told me that it was a festival for friends!! I asked her a lot, because it's different where I come from, but she swore that it was supposed to be for giving cookies to your best friend!"

I took a deep breath, gritting my teeth and hearing a grinding noise.

For. Friends.

"So when you gave cookies to Claire...?"

"It was for friendship!"

We stared at each other for several seconds. I needed to yell some more... And so, despite picking the obvious topic of asking Claire exactly WHY she had told him it was a friendship festival, I picked the first topic that came to mind, the first accusation.

"And you weren't going to give any to ME?!"

For all the color changing Cliff had done, I wouldn't have been surprised if he just turned into a Cliff-shaped rainbow. Because he turned the strangest shade of red and pink.

"...I was going to ask you to the Fireworks Festival... Because I knew that one was... You know..."

Oh.

Ohhhhhh.

DARN IT!!

I gaped for a while.

"A-Ann?"

My fist (not to mention my brain) wasn't working. I didn't WANT to punch Cliff in the face and knock him out. I didn't want to bite his head off... But I did want to do something else with my lips that just about scared the heck out of me. I was about to start babbling like some stupid chicken, or maybe screaming bloody murder. And at this delicate, terrifying moment, my father and Claire intervened.

"Oh, we're good," Claire said, giggling, trying to stifle her voice in a whisper. Of course, her whisper was about as effective as my own or Manna's whispers- meaning it carried halfway across the town.

She and my... _delightful_... father shared a high-five.

"I TOLD you that lying to gullible Cliff about the festival would trigger their feelings!" My father cheered.

"Um, Doug," Cliff began in an embarassed tone, "We're still here."

"Huh? Oh, yes, of course you are!" He and Claire winked towards each other. Unfortunately for me, he turned his twinkling gaze towards... me, of course.

"Annnniieee... When are the children being born?"

My fist suddenly started working again.

* * *

_A/N: Ta ta! I hoped you enjoyed it!_


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